The Case of the Troubled Trustee

undesirable alien. As such, we will escort him to the border and ask him to leave Mexico immediately.'

'Murder!' Mason exclaimed. 'Who was killed?'

'That information will, I trust, be forthcoming when Senor Dutton reaches the border. It is my unpleasant duty to see he is promptly escorted to the border.'

'And at the border?' Mason asked.

The officer smiled. 'At the border,' he said, 'I feel quite certain that police from your country will be waiting. What would you do if you were a police officer in the United States, and you knew that a man whom you wished to arrest for murder was to be deported as an undesirable alien?'

'That procedure seems a little high-handed to me,' Mason said.

'Doubtless, it does,' the officer announced, 'but we do things in our country the way we wish to do them in our country, just as you are permitted to do things in your country the way you wish to do them in your country. That is, we do not interfere with you and we do not care to have you interfere with us.

'I am going to ask you to withdraw, if you will please be so good.'

Mason said, 'I am an attorney at law. My client is accused of a crime and I demand the right to represent him and consult with him.'

The chief smiled. 'You are an attorney in the United States?'

'Yes.'

'And in Mexico?'

Mason hesitated.

'In Mexico,' the chief of police went on, 'attorneys in good standing are referred to as licenciados. That means they have a license granted by the Mexican government to practice law. You perhaps have such a license, Senor Mason?'

Mason grinned. 'All right, it's your country, your customs and your prisoner.'

'Thank you,' the chief said, 'and there is no reason why we should detain you further, Senor Mason.'

'But this man is charged with murder,' Mason asked, 'and his attorney can't talk with him?'

The chief shrugged his shoulders. 'You are licensed in your country. You can talk with your client there at any time. Here he is charged only with being an undesirable alien. We do not wish undesirable aliens in our country any more than you do.'

'What's undesirable about him?' Mason asked.

The chief smiled and said, 'He is a fugitive from justice in the United States. This makes him very undesirable as a Mexican visitor.'

'There are legal proceedings looking to his deportation?' Mason asked.

'Only the proceedings necessary to get him transferred to the border. Mere in Mexico we expedite the process of justice as much as possible.'

Mason looked at Dutton, then back at the chief of police. 'Zip the lip,' he said.

The chief raised his eyebrows. 'I'm afraid I didn't understand you.'

'Pardon me,' Mason said, 'it was just a bit of American slang.'

'Oh, yes-you Americans. And now, Senor, if you and your so charming secretary will just step this way, please-and I strongly recommend the restaurants here. You will find the service excellent and the food beyond compare. As tourists, we will try to make you happy.'

'But not as an attorney?' Mason asked.

The chief shrugged expressive shoulders. 'Unfortunately, you are not an attorney in Mexico. If you would reside in Mexico and comply with the requirements, I have no doubt but that you could become a licenciado, but until then…'

There was another expressive shrug of the shoulders.

The police officer held the outer door open.

Mason put his hand on Della Street 's arm, and together they stepped out of the room into the shaded walkway which was filled with the sound of whitewinged doves, the scent of flowers and the beauty of semitropical foliage.

Chapter Nine

As Mason and Della Street walked down the little sidewalk in front of the auto courts, Drake's detective came running toward them, motioning frantically.

Mason quickened his step.

'What is it?' he asked.

'I called Drake to report, and he's on the phone. Something he wants to tell you about right away. Says it's terribly important; that I should get you. He's going to hold the line until you can come.'

Mason nodded to Della Street, hurried down the walkway under the palms and banana trees, his long legs making the detective trot to keep up, while Della Street made no attempt to match the pace.

In the phone booth, where the receiver was off the hook, Mason closed the door, picked up the receiver, said, 'Yes? Hello.'

Drake's voice said, 'That you, Perry?'

'Right.'

'All right,' Drake said, 'there's a rumble. I don't know how bad it is as far as your client is concerned, but it's pretty bad at this end.'

'Murder?' Mason asked.

'Right. How did you know?'

'The officers moved in on Dutton while I was talking with him.'

Drake said, 'Here's all I know. An early golfer found a body on tee seven at the Barclay Country Club. The man had been shot once.'

'Did they find the weapon?' Mason asked.

'I don't know,' Drake said. 'This much I do know. An attempt had been made to keep the police from identifying the victim and apparently that attempt has succeeded to date.

'Everything in the man's pockets had been taken. There isn't so much as a handkerchief. The labels had been cut from the inside of the coat pocket and on the little hanging strap at the back of the neck.

'The cutting had been skillfully done with a very sharp knife or a razor blade.

'The time of death hasn't been officially determined as yet, but it could be at just about the time our man tailed Dutton out to the golf club-that's within the general over-all time limit that they've mapped out for the murder. After they have a complete autopsy, they may let Dutton off the hook. Right now I understand the tentative time is fixed between nine-thirty last night and two-thirty this morning.'

'All right,' Mason said. 'Now, your man couldn't get into the club because it was a key job?'

'That's right. You have to go in through the clubhouse to get to the course.'

'There must be a service road,' Mason said.

'There is, somewhere. I haven't looked it up.'

Mason said, 'At that hour of the night, the murdered man probably let himself in with a key. It's a cinch that Dutton did.'

'Dutton's a member of the club,' Drake said.

'All right, probably the other man is, too. Get photog'raphs from the newspaper reporters and start covering members who are regular players and-'

'We're way behind on that,' Drake said, 'the police have five detectives interviewing all the members whose record of greens fees shows that they've been playing regularly. They have photographs of the dead man and they're trying to make an identification.'

'Have you seen a photograph?'

'No,' Drake said. 'I have a general description.'

'Shoot.'

'A man about fifty-five,' Drake said, 'with dark hair, powerful broad shoulders, slightly stooped, black eyes,